


Whispers of Immortality

by AlseinWonderland



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Lancelot (Merlin) Lives, Major Character Injury, Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Protective Arthur, Protective Knights (Merlin), Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlseinWonderland/pseuds/AlseinWonderland
Summary: Merlin is killed during an attack, but death just doesn't seem to stick.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 274





	1. Death Takes Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, this is a work in progress with no particular schedule for completion. Your support means everything :)  
> -no beta so all errors are mine

As soon as Arthur’s blade had sliced through the last of the bandits, he spun in a circle taking stock of his knights. Everyone was accounted for except Merlin. “Merlin, the fight is over you can stop cowering now” Arthur called jokingly into the surrounding trees, unsure of where exactly the man had chosen to take cover. This was usually the part where he popped out from behind a tree or bush grumbling about something, this was also the point where Arthur would take a monumental, yet decidedly private sigh of relief. This time however, neither thing occurred. Instead there was silence, a sharp spike of fear shot through Arthur as he called out again, “Merlin!” the knights had caught their breath and were now scanning the trees for the lanky man. A rustling to the left alerted them to his presence as he walked into the clearing. He looked around, slightly bewildered, as if he wasn’t sure how he had gotten there, which was entirely possible considering the amount of blood that was currently running down the side of his face and slicking his hair to his head.

“Merlin mate, you alright?” asked Gwaine stepping forward. “I don’t think I was hiding” said Merlin, his voice laced with confusion. He looked down at the ground and scratched at his head absentmindedly, before letting his now bloodied hand fall back to his side. Arthur took this to be an opening to one of his jabs and let out a little huff of air fully expecting to be berated. Instead Merlin’s head shot up to look at Arthur, his confusion now replaced with something akin to shock. “I think I was protecting you” he said, his gaze piercing Arthur. Arthur was slightly worried now but told himself it was just the head wound and since he was up and around, he would be just fine, like he always was. Merlin’s brow furrowed in confusion once more and he tipped his head slightly to the side before dashing any hope Arthur had previously been holding on to, “who are you?” he asked. Suddenly as if the ropes that had been holding him up were cut, he crumpled to the ground, and Arthur’s heart fell right along with him. 

Arthur was at his side in seconds, scanning his body for any other injuries. Not finding any he moved his hands to the man’s head and began to gingerly run his hands through his hair and across his scalp, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. At this point the other knights had gathered around. Lancelot was kneeling by the other side of Merlin’s head while Gwaine was by his feet, the others formed a loose circle around the downed men. Arthur’s searching stopped suddenly. He paused, his hands still cradling the man’s head, then he shook his own, “no… I’m sure he’s just landed in some wet leaves or mud”. This comment was meant more for himself but the others heard it none the less. “What are you..” before Lancelot could finish his question Arthur had turned the boy over, baring the back of his head to the gathered knights. Gwaine, who as per usual was oscillating somewhere between drunk and hungover, lurched backwards before vomiting onto the ground nearby. The entire back of Merlin’s skull had been caved in, brain matter was leaking from multiple places and the remaining skull was shattered. Lancelot sat back on his haunches while each of the knights had taken a small involuntary step back. As soon as Merlin had collapsed Elyan had gone to fetch the medical bag and was handing over a wad of bandages when he too spotted the injury and faltered. 

They all knew that there would no surviving this, the fact that Merlin had been able to walk and talk at all was a cruel miracle. Arthur however, seemed oblivious to this and reached for the bandages that were currently hovering over Merlin’s prone form. He ended up having to tear them from Elyan’s hand as his attention was still firmly on the dent in his friend’s head. Arthur turned Merlin back over, placing the bandages over the injury and holding them firmly in place. “I need more bandages to secure this” he said, looking at Elyan expectantly, his hand outstretched. “Sire, I…” Elyan began, “we don’t have time for this, we need to stop the bleeding and get him to Gaius” snapped Arthur. This seemed to shake the remaining knights out of their shocked stupor and they all turned their gazes to their king. Elyan reluctantly handed over the bandages and Arthur swiftly wrapped them around Merlin’s head, a sick mockery of an angel’s halo. 

“Lancelot keep an eye on him, everyone else we need to pack up and get moving” Arthur doled out the order before resting his hand on Merlin’s forehead, closing his eyes for a beat and standing up. He began to walk away but turned back when he noticed that no one had moved, “Now would be preferable” he snapped again. “Sire, I don’t believe this is an injury that Merlin can recover from” said Leon in his most placating tone. “Don’t be ridiculous” Arthur scoffed, “We will get him to Gaius and he’ll be fine, he’s always fine, he’s Merlin” he paused for a moment before turning his gaze to the man currently splayed on the ground. “He has to be fine”, this last part was once again meant only for him but with the deafening silence in the clearing, he may as well have been shouting. Leon glanced at the other knights before nodding slightly and beginning to pack up the camp.

Lancelot sat by Merlin’s side, his hands firmly enclosing the boys, his gaze fliting between his face and watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. After only a few minutes Merlin heaved in a huge stuttering breath before letting it out in a peaceful whoosh, his chest did not move again. Lancelot let his head hang down as he adjusted his grip on the boy’s hand to covertly check for a pulse he knew he would not find. Only after looking up, ensuring Arthur was not watching, pressing two fingers into the boy’s neck, and finding nothing did he let the tears fall silently down his cheeks. Leon was the first to notice Lancelot’s slumped frame and shaking shoulders, he stopped working which quickly alerted, Elyan, Percival and Gwaine, the latter of which fell to his knees. Arthur had yet to notice and was still busying himself with his horse, “I’ll ride with Merlin, let me mount up and then Percival, you can pass him up to me”. “He’s gone sire” it was Percival who spoke this time, his voice laced with grief. Arthur whirled on the men with an unexpected fury, “I’m not sure why you lot are giving up so easily, he would never give up if it was any of us in the same position” he snarled.

Leon had gone to get confirmation of Merlin’s death himself and was now walking towards Arthur, his hands slightly raised. “He is gone Sire. He’s not breathing and his heart has stopped. There is nothing more we can do” Leon paused, swallowing audibly “Arthur, Merlin is dead” he finished, his hand finding Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur looked up at Leon and then down at Merlin’s body before shaking his head slowly, “no” he whispered. He began walking towards Merlin taking up a steady mantra of “Nos” which increased in volume and anguish as his velocity towards his fallen friend also increased. He skidded to his knees beside the man, his chant paused. He stared at his chest for a moment before digging his fingers into his neck and shaking his head more vigorously. “NO” this last utterance was the loudest yet, and was followed by him taking Merlin’s face into his hands and resting his own forehead against the rapidly cooling forehead of his dead friend. “please,… no” this was barely whispered out before gut wrenching sobs broke the silence. 

The knights left Arthur to mourn while they busied themselves breaking camp. Once everything that could possibly be done was completed, Leon approached Arthur and laid his hand firmly on his shoulder. The king’s sobs had quieted and he now sat hunched over Merlin’s body, looking as if the world itself had ended. “Sire, we need to go, these woods aren’t safe.” He paused for a moment as his emotions got the better of him, causing tears to spring to his eyes and a lump to form in his throat which he quietly cleared before continuing. “We need to bury him. Arthur, we need to bury Merlin.” Arthur finally raised his head and looked over his shoulder at his first knight. He allowed his gaze to wander over to his other knights, they were all looking at him, the pain they felt clearly visible in their eyes. Lancelot and Gwaine looked particularly wrecked, Arthur imagined he probably looked much the same. He nodded once before settling Merlin back on the ground and standing, swaying slightly when he found his feet. Leon let his hand fall from Arthur’s shoulder and instead offered him a small, desperately sad yet slightly encouraging smile, as if he was trying to convince himself just as much as Arthur that everything was going to be alright. 

“Perhaps we should bring him back to Camelot, Gwen and Gaius deserves a chance to say goodbye” said Elyan quietly. “No”, was Lancelot’s harsh reply, all heads turned at his uncharacteristically sharp tone. He slumped his shoulders in defeat, “I’m sorry, it’s just…Gwen doesn’t deserve to see him like this. If she does it will be the only thing she will be able to remember, she doesn’t deserve that” he explained, “no one does, not even Gaius” he finished sadly. “There’s a lake near here that he likes.” Gwaine said, with a somber tone “I saw him sneaking out one day and decided to follow him” he finished in explanation. He left out the part where the young man had sat at the water’s edge silently crying and with a flash of his eyes the sky had cried right along with him.


	2. Burials and Returns

There had been a silent battle between Gwaine, Lancelot and Arthur over who would carry Merlin to his final resting place. Arthur emerged the victor of the wordless scuffle due in part to his title, although some of his victory was owed to the seniority he was able to claim in terms of Merlin’s friendship. He held Merlin closely as he walked, his knights following close behind. They made for a dismal sight, a funeral procession of crimson and bloodied silver traipsing through the woods. When the lake finally came into view, the sun sparkling off the water, the men stopped. Arthur bent down and gently lowered Merlin to the floor, cradling the boy’s head with his hand so it wouldn’t strike the ground. He allowed himself a moment to stare at his abnormally motionless form, it looked so wrong on him. Merlin was energy and giddiness and pure unadulterated joy, he was never meant to be so still. 

Arthur rose to his feet and turned to his gathered men, “We need to find a suitable place as well as something we can use to dig.” He ordered. “We could use sticks but…” Elyan had begun to speak but trailed off in either uncertainty or distress, most likely both. “What is it Elyan, don’t be afraid to speak your mind” Arthur prompted. “It will take far too long to dig a hole deep enough to bury him” he finished. “There is no need for it to be too deep” said Arthur, confusion evident in his voice. Elyan looked at him for a moment and was about to speak again when Gwaine interrupted, clearly having come to the same conclusion as Elyan. “He means, we’ll never be able to dig a hole deep enough to protect his body from scavengers if all we’ve got to dig with is a few twigs” Gwaine bit out. His voice was harsh and his tone unforgiving, grief having robbed him of any tact or patience he had previously possessed. Arthur’s face fell and he turned once again to look at Merlin as the reality of Gwaine’s words sunk in. 

“Sire” said Lancelot, pulling Arthur’s attention, “Perhaps we could dig a smaller hole and cover the dirt with large rocks and stones. It would prevent any harm from coming to his…” Lancelot took a deep steadying breath before continuing, “his body. It could also serve as a grave marker” he finished. Percival shot him a strange look, he had been with Lancelot when they had witnessed the druid burial. It was an odd thing to suggest for Merlin of all people, but he supposed the logic was sound enough, so he didn’t ask any questions. Gwaine was also aware of the druid tradition and gave Lancelot a similar glance. He had known Merlin was special from the moment they had met. The events he had witnessed some months prior at this very lake had only served to confirm his suspicions. He had not however, been aware that Lancelot was privy to this particular facet of Merlin’s identity. Gwaine pushed these thoughts aside, marking them for a later conversation. Arthur, as per usual, was ignorant of the implications of this suggestion and saw only the benefits it offered. He agreed and the men began to prepare to do the previously unthinkable, bury their friend.

Arthur placed the last stone, a small shiny thing that had caught his eye as the lake’s water pushed it against the shore, almost as if trying to pull his attention to the bauble. Once that stone had been placed, there was nothing left to do. No more enemies to fight, no more bodies to carry, no more graves to be dug and no more words to be said. Merlin was gone. Despite everything they had or hadn’t done, he was dead. They were reluctant to leave but upon Leon’s perhaps even more reluctant urging they set off back to Camelot. Arthur threw one last look over his shoulder at the lake before it could disappear between the trees. The water was eerily still. He allowed himself the thought that it was standing in solidarity with the man buried on its shore, before turning back and following his knights. 

The crunch of leaves underfoot and the jangling of chainmail were the only sounds they made as they walked. The rustle of fabric as bed rolls were unraveled and the crack of flint against rock before the whoosh of a fire were the only sounds they made as they set up camp. They made no sounds as they sat around the fire, opting to sit in silence instead. Silence that would normally have been filled by Merlin’s inane chatter, or his characteristic back and forth with Arthur, or his laughter as Gwaine regaled them all with yet another bawdy tavern tale. The silence was deafening in its oppression which made the sharp snap of a twig all the louder. It seemed to echo through the small clearing, bolstered by the quiet, bouncing off the trees. There was no reason for this small sound to create such a disturbance, but it seemed to hold something, something akin to a promise. A promise that showed itself seconds later by stumbling lightly out of the trees, stained with mud, covered with leaves and looking wide eyed at the shocked assembly. 

“Merlin?” Arthur’s impossibly small utterance was what brought the knights back from their shock. Before another word was spoken, Merlin found his face crushed into an armor-clad shoulder, the brush of hair he felt at his cheek suggested that Gwaine was to blame. His suspicions were confirmed when said man finally pulled back from the hug, hands firmly gripping Merlin’s upper arms. When Arthur had spoken, something in Gwaine had snapped back into place. The emptiness that had been mercilessly hollowed out by the boy’s death was filled and now positively glowing. Without a second thought he swept him up into his arms, stopping just short of killing the boy again with the sheer force of it. Since the moment Gwaine’s brain had processed Merlin’s death, he had been praying. He had never been a religious man and therefore the gods owed him nothing but he prayed nonetheless. He had prayed to hold Merlin again, to feel his heart beating steadily, to see his eyes shining with their usual mirth, to hear his laughter ring out. He had prayed and pleaded and begged and yet he had been convinced that it would never be enough, knew that what he was asking was an impossibility. But here he was, despite the laws of nature, fit snugly into his arms. He was terrified that if he released Merlin he would disappear again, that this would prove to be some cruel fever dream, perhaps a trick devised by the gods as punishment for his lack of faith in the past. When he did finally let go, it was a marginal release, keeping his hands firmly affixed to the boy’s arms. 

Arthur was evidently experiencing a similar thought process and shoved Gwaine out of the way, encasing Merlin in his arms. He relished in the rumble of the boy’s chest as he laughed, a low joyous thing. In that moment Arthur decided it was the most glorious sound he had ever heard. Eventually, he too pulled away and released Merlin. His hands shook slightly at the movement and he had to fight the urge to wrap him up again. The other knights took their turns, until Lancelot’s came around. He pulled Merlin in but loose enough so that he could turn his head and speak into his ear. “I’m assuming you were unaware of this perk” he said, the humor doing little to mask his relief and leftover grief that had yet to get the message that it was no longer needed. “I had no idea” was Merlin’s whispered reply. Despite its low breathy pitch, Lancelot could hear the undercurrent of fear potentially bordering on terror. Lancelot let go with a final reassuring squeeze and soon they found themselves back around the fire. 

Since their embrace, Arthur had been quiet, simply staring at Merlin, the day’s earlier event playing a sickening loop in his brain. His eyes widened suddenly “Oh gods” he exclaimed, anguished and effectively drawing all attention to him. “I was too caught up being an idiot to be there for you when you…died” he choked on the last word, his gaze averted shamefully to the ground. “Arthur” Merlin called, regaining his attention, “No argument from me on your status as an idiot and Yes, I died. But I think It also safe to say that I’m also decidedly not dead” he said, gesturing to his body comically before continuing, “and therefore agonizing over things you did or didn’t do in that moment is pointless, I don’t remember it so let’s let it go” he finished. Arthur nodded noncommittally, either ignoring or ignorant of the opening jab. “You’re ok though?” he asked timidly. “For having just had my head bashed in, dying, and then crawling out of my own grave, just peachy” Merlin replied, equal measures of snark and surprised sincerity lacing his voice. “Yeah, about that” Gwaine butted in, “How the hell are you back?” he questioned, “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m beyond thrilled that your alive but…” he trailed off with rare uncertainty. “I honestly have no idea.” Merlin answered.


	3. Discovering Hollow

“I remember the fight… well most of it, I think. Then it felt like someone had taken a cudgel to the back of my head”. Merlin absently lifted his hand to rub at the previously concave spot as he stared into the fire. Arthur noticed the dirt caked under his nails and small abrasions that seemed to litter his palms as his hand drifted up. “Hang on, you said earlier that you had crawled out of your grave” said Arthur, unsure if he was posing a question or stating a fact. “I…uh, yeah” said Merlin, shaking himself from his memories. “Oh gods” whispered Elyan, Merlin saw their horror and guilt coming from a mile off, he tried desperately to temper it. “How were you lot supposed to know that I was going to come back” he soothed, “Plus, it’s better that than dead” he finished weakly, the joke falling horribly flat. The ordeal was obviously straining on him more than he was willing to admit. 

“Do you think it was a one time thing?” questioned Gwaine. “Does it matter? It’s not something I intend to test” snapped Arthur with more heat than Merlin thought was strictly necessary. “I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort, but It would be helpful to know if this state was brought on by an outside force” Gwaine replied. All heads swiveled to Merlin, hoping he could shed some light on their joint confusion. “I’ve no idea who or what caused this” he said, gesturing wildly to his body, “all I know is that I’m back. One minute I was alive, then I wasn’t. I’m not sure where I was exactly but I know it was warm and I was happy. I know my father was there, as were Will and Freya. And now I’m back, and I’m freezing and my head feels like its splitting at the seams, and…oh gods I was happy” his breath hitched here and his hurried speech devolved into great frame shaking sobs. Gwaine being the closest at the moment tried to still those sobs by pulling him into another hug. 

With Merlin pressed firmly to his side, Gwaine was able to feel the cold practically radiating off the boy. He had been cold before but had attributed it to his stroll through the woods. Now however, with nearing an hour of fireside time under his belt, this chill was highly unjustified. “By the gods, Merlin you are freezing. Why didn’t you say something earlier” Gwaine chastised lightly. Before the suggestion had even been made, five red capes were unbuckled and thrust at Merlin. It would have been six but both of Gwaine’s hands were busy trying to rub some semblance of heat back into the frozen youth. Gwaine halted his ministrations in favor of grabbing the capes and settling them around Merlin’s thin shoulders before adding his own to the pile. He then scooted them closer to the fire before beginning to rub his arms once again. “It’s been a long day, I believe any questions we have can wait until tomorrow after everyone has had the chance to rest” said Lancelot pointing his words quite clearly at Arthur. They all acquiesced and settled into their bedrolls, the king a bit more reluctantly than the rest. 

Merlin was staring blankly into the fire but the soft utterance of his name pulled him from his thoughts. “Here” said Lancelot, holding out a small vial, “It’s for the pain” he explained, gesturing to Merlin’s head. “Right, thank you” he mumbled “I…I’m sorry about…” Lancelot grabbed his wrist lightly, effectively halting Merlin’s speech. “You died, Merlin. Your heart stopped beating. I don’t think there is any response in the world that would call for an apology, okay?” he said. Merlin nodded weakly and Lancelot released his wrist. He shared a look with Gwaine before shuffling off to his own bedroll. After some time, Merlin was finally able to convince Gwaine that he wasn’t going to disappear and therefore the hovering knight could get some sleep. He left reluctantly but didn’t go far, scooching a few feet away and only rolling over when Merlin fixed him with a particularly withering glare. 

Arthur watched Merlin that night, he didn’t sleep, merely stared into the fire. A shiver would wrack his frame every so often and his lips refused to lose their bluish tinge despite the pile of cloaks draped over him and the fire still flickering merrily. He looked miserable, it wasn’t saying much but Merlin could be dying and in Arthur’s book it would still be leagues better than dead and buried. Miserable was ok, not great, but ok. Miserable he could deal with, miserable was resolvable given time. Arthur could fix miserable. 

Merlin’s thoughts swirled in his head as he watched the fire sputter, a brief constellation of sparks and embers lighting up the sky. He hadn’t lied when had told Lancelot that the cause of his resurrection was unknown. It was far more than likely that it was his magics fault, but it seemed like something that should have been mentioned previously. Surely the druids would have said something, even Kilgarrah was not so cruel as to keep something like this from him, he hoped so at least. He tried to keep his thoughts straight, but they kept stubbornly turning to his time on the other side, he was unsure of what else to call the place he had been. He had been happy, deliriously so. It was a feeling he had never been privilege to before. Sure, he was happy at other times in his life, but it had never reached the magnitude that it had there. Its absence left something hollow within him, a new spot he hadn’t known was empty before. His duty to Arthur was beginning to leave him more hole than man he thought grimly. 

Merlin didn’t say much the next day, not as they prepared and ate breakfast, not as they broke camp, and not as they rode towards Camelot. No one pushed him after the first few tries. Gwaine had managed to convince the boy to eat, it wasn’t much, but a few mouthfuls of porridge was better than nothing. His silence was unnerving, his jitteriness even more so. They had all tried to get him to sit and relax, but stillness just didn’t seem to agree with him, so they watched reluctantly as he busied himself. He cleaned the pot and bowls from breakfast, he filled the waterskins, he rolled up as many bedrolls as he could get his hands on, and readied as many horses as he could before the knights beat him to it. 

Once there was nothing left to do, he began to pace until Gwaine stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Merlin mate, do you think you’re okay to ride?” he asked. He knew the question was stupid seeing as Merlin had just been zipping around the campsite, but he asked it nonetheless. Merlin didn’t respond verbally, giving him a nod instead. “Okay” Gwaine said, nodding back before stepping away from him. He had been able to feel the cold still pouring off of the slim boy but he was no longer shivering and his lips had lost their bluish color so he decided not to mention it. 

Merlin was slightly less restless atop the saddle than he had been on the ground. Every time he began to amp up again he placed his hand on his horse’s neck which seemed to calm him. Unbeknownst to the knights and their king, this action allowed him to connect to the horse. Its inherent placidity burrowed into the ground with each step, twining with the ease of the soil. Every time Merlin splayed his palm against the creatures neck, he was able to tap into this complex of serenity and allow it to ground him, if only slightly. He continued his silence until they caught the first peek of a turret jutting up over the trees. “It’s probably stupid to ask you all to keep this from Gaius” he said, not meeting anyone’s gaze. His sudden lapse in silence had startled Arthur who jumped slightly and whirled around in his saddle. Gwaine would have laughed or poked fun at the princess but refrained given Merlin’s current demeanor, which could only be described as flighty. “Very stupid” was Arthur’s reply, having evidently gained his composure once more. He was still testy however and his tone was unintentionally harsh causing him to wince once the words had escaped. “Thought so” said Merlin quietly, sounding thoroughly defeated. Gwaine gave him a sympathetic smile which he missed, his gaze fixed resolutely on the ground in front of him. They rode the rest of the way in silence, Merlin’s mind in turmoil, that newfound void pulsing unpleasantly with every step.


	4. A Physician's Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is riddled with plot holes but I'll get back to them eventually. I'm also periodically reworking the previous chapters so if you feel like it give them a reread.

The sounds of the lower town began to filter in the closer they got, slowly peeling away at the hush that had surrounded them. The increasing buzz of their surroundings seemed to agitate Merlin who nearly toppled from his saddle in his haste to dismount once they had reached the castle courtyard. Arthur began tossing order’s left and right as he dismounted. He was finally back in his element, he felt the control he had lost begin to seep back in and the strong walls of his title were erected once more. Merlin had been seconds from making his escape before Arthur’s firm grip on his shoulder stopped him. With a put-upon sigh, Merlin let his king manhandle him to Gaius’s chambers. 

They had cleaned the blood and gore from Merlin before burying him but some rusty stains remained stubbornly affixed to his neckerchief and tunic. Gaius’s well-trained eyes caught these nearly the second they walked through the door. He pushed his ward onto a nearby bench and began to card his fingers through the protesting boy’s hair. “Gaius, I’m fine, I’m not hurt”, Gaius finding nothing amiss with his head grabbed both of the boy’s hands turning them over to examine the small abrasions. “Anymore”, Arthur’s hissed. The comment pulled Gaius’s attention and he turned to study the King, one familiar eyebrow raised. He turned back to his ward who was looking at anything other than Gaius. “Would someone care to explain?” he asked, none to gently. It was Merlin who finally answered, realizing that Arthur would not be gentle about the admission. Or at least he tried, Arthur grew tired of his stuttering quite quickly and butted in. “He died” the answer was blunt and held no hint of humor, causing Gaius’s mouth to fall open slightly. “I…what…what do you mean?” he asked.

Before either could answer Gaius seemed to pull his physician mask back on and jumped to a conclusion that made some semblance of sense and allowed his desperately scattered thoughts to coalesce into something more manageable. “I’ve heard tales of people being resurrected by pressure being applied to the chest and forced breathing, but I wasn’t sure it was possible. Who performed the act?” Gaius questioned, awe and shock clear in his eyes. “No, that’s not what I meant” said Arthur. Gaius’s face fell slightly and his brow crinkled in confusion. Merlin tried once again to explain wanting desperately to cushion the blow, but Arthur beat him to it, no cushioning involved. “Merlin’s head was caved in by a bandit. He died, and we buried him” Gaius’s eyebrows were climbing farther and farther up his forehead as Arthur continued. “We buried him, and he waltzed right into camp hardly 4 candle marks later” he finished. 

“I wouldn’t say I waltzed” countered Merlin, “that’s more your style” he snarked. Arthur was about to respond but he saw the pallor of Gaius’s skin and refrained. The man in question was staring hard at Merlin who was still reluctant to meet his eyes. “Merlin…how, I don’t understand” was all he was able to get out, his voice uncharacteristically soft which finally pulled Merlin’s gaze. “I don’t either” was his short but gentle reply. They stared at each other for a moment before Gaius valiantly pulled himself together and turned to address the king. “My lord, I thank you for ensuring this information was passed on” he threw a small pointed look over his shoulder, clearly aware that Merlin would not have told him otherwise. “I would like to examine my patient and I’m sure you have much to do” Gaius finished. His tone was kind and properly differential, but Arthur knew a dismissal when he heard one. With a firm nod and a final glance at Merlin he took his leave. 

Gaius turned to his ward a question already forming, “Before you ask, no, I honestly have no idea what happened.” Merlin said, his hands out as if calming a giddy horse. “I think it’s safe to assume your magic had something to do with it” Gaius said, echoing Merlin’s thoughts from earlier, he nodded instead of answering. “Do you remember anything?” Gaius questioned. Merlin opened his mouth to answer but closed it quickly and shook his head in the negative. He wanted to tell Gaius about what he had experienced, about seeing his father again, seeing Will, seeing Freya, but he also knew how the old man worried and he did not want to burden him any further. There was no need for his guardian to know what his time with them had taken from him. 

Gaius seemed unconvinced but let the issue slide and began to busy himself caring for Merlin’s hands. He worked in silence but paused about halfway through, a harsh realization sweeping through him. Merlin could feel him tense and drew his eyes up to meet his mentor’s, “What is it?” he questioned, concern lacing his voice. “Arthur said they buried you” Gaius replied, lifting the boys unwrapped hand in lieu of actually voicing his question. Merlin nodded, his gaze falling back to the floor, tears beginning to prickle at his eyes. Gaius wordlessly drew the boy into a hug and held him together as he fell apart. Merlin finally calmed and Gaius returned to cleaning and wrapping his hands. Once both of them were swathed in bandages that still allowed for movement and a bit of dexterity, Gaius forced him to eat some stew and ordered him off to bed. Merlin was too drained to protest either command, spooning the thick broth into his mouth absently and falling into his bed. No complaints even crossed his mind.

His jumpiness had faded during his conversation with Gaius and subsequent breakdown but he woke to find it back with a vengeance. He leapt from the bed, changed quickly nearly ripping his tunic in the process and trotted down the stairs. Gaius looked up from his spot by the fire where he was stirring a pot that no doubt contained their breakfast. “How are you feeling my boy?” Gaius asked, Merlin could clearly see the worry in his eyes. Merlin settled himself at the table before answering, “Good, I feel good”. Gaius gave his legs a pointed look, both of which were bouncing up and down beneath the table, Merlin followed his gaze before looking back up, “A bit jittery” he acquiesced sheepishly. “Hmm” Gaius mused before pulling the pot from its hook over the fire and settling it into it’s stand on the table. He bustled over and gripped Merlin’s wrist, he gasped slightly when his hand made contact and Merlin startled. “Merlin’ you’re ice cold” he admonished staring intensely at his ward. “I…uh…yeah, it seems to be a bit of a theme since I came back” Merlin said weakly. Gaius merely raised his brow, a gesture for Merlin to provide a more thorough explanation. “I’ve been, as you so kindly stated, ice cold, since I got back. I noticed it at first but now it seems like I’ve… adjusted” he replied with a slight shrug. Gaius hummed again in thought. “It’s likely that this and the restlessness” here he gestured to Merlin’s still jiggling legs “are side effects of your resurrection” he mused. “Hopefully not permanent, I feel like I’m about to vibrate right out of my skin” said Merlin, “You look it too” Gaius replied. Gaius finished his examination and forced some porridge into Merlin before allowing him to vault from the table and skid out the door. Gaius shook his head and huffed out a laugh, he was quite certain that Arthur would not be pleased with his ward’s new zest, and certainly not this early in the morning. 

Merlin valiantly tried to hide his jitteriness, and for the most part it worked. The odd irritated glances from Arthur or Gaius were enough to remind him of his intended charade and eventually it faded. That hollow spot had never filled but to his great relief Merlin had begun to notice it less and less. His memory of the gold-soaked reunion began to blur at the edges, waning with each day that passed. The cold however never faded. It remained, stubbornly permeating his body with chills. He no longer noticed the sensation, only made aware of its presence when someone commented. Eventually even the comments ceased, people becoming used to his body’s new climate. 

Arthur would never say it, but the iciness of Merlin’s skin sent a jolt of something he could almost be convinced was pleasure through him every time they touched. These touches were fleeting and almost always bordered on professional but Arthur had found himself wishing they would evolve into something more ever since Merlin’s death. The boy’s absence from this world, no matter how brief, had opened up something inside of Arthur and caused him to realize quite harshly that he would not survive without the long limbed servant by his side. Despite all of this he resolved to not let this information fit. He told himself it was a reaction born of grief and relief that had been so closely packed it left him and his emotions reeling. The fluttering he experienced low in his stomach every time that mop of black hair came into view was merely a side effect, much like Merlin’s freezing alabaster skin. The buzzing that would start in his veins whenever Merlin graced him with a smile was a fluke, something that would pass once the memories of Merlin’s bloodied form stopped assaulting him. Somewhere deep down he knew that these were all lies but Arthur was king and a king’s word was law.


	5. Second Coming

Merlin was quietly thankful that this time he had been alone. Arthur had just started lessening his watch and the fretting had stopped a few weeks prior. If the king found out, the reins would surely be pulled and his new-found freedom yanked from beneath his feet. It was a simple herb run, something he done a thousand times before. They normally transpired without a hitch, the occasional fumble quelled by a few whispered words and a flash of gold. This time however he was caught unaware, his attention had instead been glued to a butterfly with wings of pendragon red that flitted gently through the clearing. He barely had time to register the chill of the blade against his neck before it was moving. Slicing cleanly through the papery skin and deep into the structures underneath. Merlin caught a hazy glimpse of the culprit as he ruffled through his bag, throwing it to ground in irritation when all he could find were varying shades of nature. The last thing he remembered was the red butterfly. Its legs dipped into the growing pool of crimson as it’s flaming wings blurred further with every beat. 

He woke with a start, heaving in a great breath and surging upright, his hands flying to his now unblemished throat. His eyes tore around the clearing, trying to make sense of his surroundings which were only just beginning to unblur. Darkness shrouded the forest and the moon gave everything an eerie glow. Merlin was alone in the clearing, his killer had most likely fled hours ago. He attempted to steady his breathing which was still erratic and far too desperate for someone who wasn’t really moving. He dug his fingers into the soil by his hips and closed his eyes. Allowing the power of the earth to ground him until his inhales and exhales resembled something normal. He peeled himself from the ground and found his feet shakily before doubling over almost immediately. The hole that had been dug into his very soul the first time around was making its presence painfully obvious. The sensation wasn’t necessarily worse than it had been the first time he returned, but he supposed that being able to name it had given it more weight. He breathed through the hollow pulsing before straightening again, his shoulders heavier this time. 

It was late, or rather, early if the position of the moon was anything to go by, Gaius was no doubt worried, Merlin didn’t have time to wallow in his loss. He strode over to his bag and stuffed the few viable herbs back in. Most of his haul had apparently been crushed during his killer’s tantrum. He reached up to adjust his neckerchief which was irritating the skin at his throat, it cracked under his hand, flakes of dry blood sloughing off at the movement. He looked down at his tunic to find it in much the same state. Both were stiff with the blood that had flowed from his neck. His trousers were in better condition but there were still some spots stained with red. He knew he couldn’t walk through Camelot like this, and he certainly couldn’t face Gaius. He had been unable to escape telling him about his first death, Arthur had seen to that, but this time it was just him and he had no intention of informing his guardian.

Instead of beginning the trudge back to the city he turned on his heel and began to walk farther into the woods. His original intention for the day had been to take a break around noon and cool off in this nearby swimming hole, It was nearly the high of summer and the days were dreadfully hot. The brief swimming break had actually been Gaius’s idea, born of his worry that Merlin would overheat, he didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was unlikely given his body’s new temperature setting. He huffed out a cynical laugh as the section of mellowed water came into view, this probably wasn’t what Gaius had had in mind. 

Once he had scrubbed the blood from his clothing and dried it with a gilded flash, he retraced his steps back to the clearing. He was halfway across the glade when something caught his eye, or rather a lack of something. He distinctly remembered the pool of blood that had coalesced in front of him as he had died. He remembered because the striking, nearly unnatural, red butterfly had landed directly in it. Despite this certainty, the blood was gone. It should have dried and caked the grass much like it had done to his tunic and neckerchief. Instead it had vanished, as if the earth had sucked it back up. Merlin only had a moment to ponder this phenomenon before the chirping of birds in the trees informed him of the early hour. He picked up his pace and made it back to Camelot and a positively glowering Gaius just before the sun had peeked over the horizon. 

After he had assured Gaius that he was alright with a semi-fabricated tale of him falling asleep beneath a tree, he hurried to Arthur’s chambers where he bore another round of post concern questioning. Instead of the lifted brow and stern look that Gaius had issued him after his story, Arthur doled out a list of chores that even George would have wilted under. Merlin knew this was simply Arthur’s reaction to his feelings of alarm seeing as he had absolutely no emotional maturity to speak of. This slight would normally have riled Merlin, today it would give him an outlet for the energy that he felt slowly building in his vein’s so he didn’t complain. Later that week when Arthur questioned him on his newfound productiveness, Merlin fixed him with a pointed look and replied, “It’s amazing what a day off can do for a person.” “You didn’t have the day off, you were collecting herbs for Gaius” countered Arthur. “Ah, but you see, any time away from you is essentially a vacation. Herbs or no herbs” Merlin snarked, earning him a pillow to the head. 

He tossed and turned that first night, willing his eyes to grow heavy but they never did. When the birds had begun to herald in the new day he was pleasantly surprised to find that his sleeplessness had no ill effects. He didn’t think anything of it, too busy fending off Gaius’s questions and subsequently Arthurs. The next night however, was the same, and the one after, and the one after that. By the end of the first week Merlin had pegged it as yet another side effect of his death-defying gift and resigned himself to a lifetime’s worth of poorly lit boredom. He knew Gaius would most likely cotton on to his lack of rest, the knights might as well, but it would just have to be another lie he would add to the slowly growing pile. A pile that in his mind, increasingly resembled that which fueled a pyre. 

Like after his first death, the excited energy that raged through him faded after a few days. And like after his first death, the sleeplessness stubbornly persisted. Not that he was complaining necessarily, it gave him copious amounts of free time which had before been a novelty. Maybe he’d learn to knit. Merlin’s permanent chill had no real pros or cons that he could see but this new effect proved to be quite weighted. If he didn’t sleep, he didn’t dream, and if he didn’t dream he couldn’t have nightmares. Nightmares were nobodies favorite but Merlin had never been particularly fond of dreams either, they always felt too real and often left him feeling strangely bereft. This new absence of both was a small miracle in his book. The one glaring downside went hand in hand with one of its benefits. When Merlin had time to himself he often got lost in his thoughts. Playing past events over and analyzing every detail, constantly searching for something he could have done different, something he could have done better. Since his first death however, these thoughts would often stray to his time on the other side. Now he had two experiences in that place, and even though the memories were once again fading, the deep aching nothingness was still as sharp and poignant as ever. Previously, his sleep had been a surprising reprieve from this pit, without it he had begun to flounder. Enter another benefit, he could fill his brain with new material and busy his hands with new skills, effectively dulling the pain of that barren space. 

Of course it was Lancelot who noticed something off and course it was those meddling knights and their equally infuriating king who overheard. “Merlin, when was the last time you slept?” Lancelot questioned. It wasn’t that Merlin looked tired, it was quite the opposite in fact. The dark bruise like markings of a sleepless night that had seemed permanently painted beneath the warlock’s eyes had vanished and it had been weeks since Lancelot had seen those eyes bloodshot after a night of researching or nightmares, often both. Lancelot also realized that Merlin hadn’t been sharing any of his nightmares. Merlin was a deceptively private person, he rarely shared any details of importance and never let on when he was struggling. That was why Lancelot had viewed it as a gift when Merlin began to talk about his nightmares. It didn’t happen often at first, but he had slowly begun to open up, more and more until it was almost a weekly occurrence. Obviously, there wasn’t anything Lancelot could do about the nightmares, that was more Gaius’s area of expertise, not that Merlin had informed him. But he could offer a sympathetic ear and shoulder to cry on should the need arise. But the need hadn’t arisen, not in some time, which brought Lancelot back to his question and Merlin’s forthcoming answer. 

“Can’t remember” was his casual reply, the majority of his attention was on the small figurine emerging from the chunk of wood between his hands. The knife stilled and his eyes widened as he realized what he had said. His head snapped up and a sheepish look came over his face. “Ok, ok now before you freak out just listen?” Lancelot nodded his head in an affirmation for Merlin to continue. “You remember early last month when I went herb picking for Gaius?” he asked. “Yes, you didn’t come back until the early hours of the morning, Arthur was frantic” Lancelot replied. Merlin allowed himself a small smile at the memory of Arthur’s mothering worry before continuing in his explanation. “Right, well, I died again” he hurried out, the words tripping over each other in their haste. 

“You what?” Lancelot thundered before schooling his volume and continuing “Are you absolutely certain?” “I had my throat slit from ear to ear, I don’t think there is any other way to be after that” Merlin said smartly, it earned him a tempered slap upside the head. “Oi, it clearly didn’t stick, just like last time. I’m fine…mostly” he spoke this last word with a slight wince. “Merlin” said Lancelot, the warning clear in his voice. “I haven’t slept since then” Merlin said slowly, as if testing the waters. “That was nearly two months ago. Aren’t you tired?” Lancelot said, baffled. “No, not at all.” Merlin said, arms flailing slightly, he was clearly just as flummoxed as the knight. “Albeit I also haven’t felt as rested as I normally do after a really good night’s sleep, not that I got many of those anyway.” Merlin continued. “Plus it’s given me loads of free time” he picked up the wood carving and shook it to emphasis his point. “I’ve read all the books on Gaius’s shelves, I’ve memorized the uses and ingredients of every potion in our chambers…I mean I knew a fair amount of them already but I learned the rest, oh and I’m teaching myself to read Greek.” He finished with a self satisfied smile. Many of these accomplishments had been curtesy of his post death jitters but his lack of sleep since then had allowed for the freedom to do the rest. Lancelot was at a loss, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, desperately trying to find the words, any words really. His struggle was interrupted by the rustle of fabric and Merlin’s lowly muttered “shit” as Arthur sat up and pinned the boy with his gaze. “Heard that did you?” Merlin questioned weakly, Arthur merely hummed in response, something he only did when he was well and truly livid.


	6. Not Out Of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this one really got away from me in some spots. Flow-wise it makes sense in my head but my brain very closely resembles what I imagine the junk drawer of a frat house to look like, so apologies for anything that straight up doesn’t make sense. If you are confused other people are as well, please tell me so I can attempt to fix it. I don’t love how it ends, feels a bit abrupt to me but it’s better than it was yesterday so here it is. 
> 
> Again, grammar and I have a love hate relationship that usually leans towards the hate side. 
> 
> Also, side note. THANK YOU for all the love on this piece. Like almost every starving writer I thrive off validation and the comments I’ve been receiving are so darn nice, you guys are the best. 
> 
> Potential TW for some ED-esque stuff but nothing super explicit 
> 
> Alright that’s the end of my spiel, enjoy.

While this death was not quite as gruesome as his first it was still jarring. The sword had been heading straight for Arthur when Merlin stepped into its path. It sliced cleanly through his tunic and deep into the skin beneath sending him rapidly to the floor, followed soon after by the bandit who had found his own demise at the edge of Gwaine’s sword. “Merlin, Merlin, move your hands, let me see” Arthur desperately cajoled. Merlin obeyed but only to grasp both of Arthur’s and still his frantic motions. The king nearly threw up when Merlin’s wound became visible. He was no physician, but he was fairly certain that everything currently spilling onto the forest floor was supposed to be held safely inside the body. Merlin’s hands were slick with his own blood where they wrapped around Arthur’s. The king was aware of the trembling in their linked hands but would never be able to tell you who was at fault. “Arthur” Merlin said lightly, “Arthur, look at me.” He did, dragging his eyes up the rapidly staining tunic. He was paling further with each second that passed, as if the color leaching from his face was being siphoned to the color seeping into his tunic. “Arthur, I’m going to be ok. Just don’t bury me this time, yeah?” It was clearly meant as a joke, but the memory of his first death was still too fresh. That combined with the absolutely lackluster way the quip had been spoken, caused Arthur to let out a pained sound that Merlin had never heard from his king before. 

He could feel himself fading, dying twice gives you a certain insight into what those seconds before feel like. He shifted his gaze slightly to take in the huddled knights, none of them looked much better than Arthur, but a tear drop landing on his cheek made him turn his head back to the King. His previous thought had been wrong. Arthur looked terrible, far worse than the men at his back. He was doing nothing to hide the tears falling down his cheeks and if Merlin hadn’t known better, he would have assumed the world was ending, well, Arthur’s at least. He knew that Arthur cared for him, he showed it in strange ways and at even stranger times. Shoulders shoved or punched, hair ruffled, the “horseplay” as he liked to call it. All of these were how the man showed his affection, or had been, until his heart had stopped that first time. No one ever really told him how Arthur handled the whole thing, but based off of his extremely elevated level of mothering, he assumed it hadn’t been well. Despite all of this he never knew that the King actually cared this much. The last time he had seen the man cry like this was when his father had died. Even then he had tried to moderate those tears, attempting to look strong, for who, he wasn’t sure. His last real coherent thought, which looking back was perhaps not coherent at all, was that Arthur loved him. 

Merlin had died two times before, that Arthur was aware of. Both of those times he had returned alive and well, more or less. This fact did nothing to soothe the terror and panic racing through his veins as Merlin’s own pulse faded, skipped, and then stopped altogether. He knew he was a mess, he could feel the tears cascading unhindered down his face, but in this moment, with Merlin’s bloodied, lifeless body cradled to his own, he couldn’t’ find the energy to care. He had yet to remove his hand from the boy’s wrist, waiting for the pulse to jump back to life and the color to return to his face. He felt a hand settle on his shoulder as Leon’s voice echoed from behind him, “We should find some place to set up camp.” There was a pregnant pause and Arthur turned around to look into the broken face of his normally composed head knight. Leon met his stare and seemed to break further. “It will be some time before he wakes” he finished. He didn’t sound as if he believed the words, they had apparently been gifted two miracles already, a third was unlikely. 

The fact that his knights so clearly shared his fear of Merlin not coming back tore at him. He couldn’t stand the feeling of being ripped apart so he placed Merlin on the ground before standing up and directing Percival to carry his body, perhaps some distance would ease the pain. He knew his half assed plan had failed as they walked through the forest and his heart still felt like it was being viciously wrenched from his chest. Once the stench of blood and death no longer followed them, they stopped and began to settle in for the night. Percival had laid Merlin out on top of his bedroll, pillowing his head with a cape. Arthur sat down on a nearby log and stared at the boy, the stillness just as unnatural as it had been all those months ago. Gwaine sat across from Arthur, still keeping Merlin in his line of sight before growling. It startled the men who could only watch as the knight stood and stalked into the trees, “firewood” tossed over his shoulder in weak explanation. 

When Merlin heaved in a great breath and his eyes flung open, Arthur punched him on the shoulder, hard. “Ow, what was that for?” Merlin asked incredulously. “Never do that again” was Arthur’s surly reply. “I just saved your life, the least you could do is say thank you” Merlin snarked back. Arthur ignored the comment in favor of issuing another order, “I mean it Merlin, no more dying.” “It’s not like I planned on jumping in front of a blade”, Arthur struck his shoulder again, “Ouch, okay, okay I get it, no more dying. My soul will remain steadfastly in this realm, promise” Merlin said, laughing slightly and ignoring the uncomfortable pull to have just the opposite. He could already feel what he now described as ‘the empty’, beginning to pulse and protest but he shoved aside any outward reaction in favor of standing and looking towards his friends. They all wore matching faces of relief except for Gwaine who’s face looked pinched, as if in pain. He made to move toward the oddly forlorn knight but Arthur stepped into his path and turned him towards the fire, “dinner is ready, you should eat something” he said. He wasn’t hungry which was a bit of a surprise considering he usually became ravenous after coming back but he chalked it up to residual stress for himself and his friends, namely Gwaine. 

No one was quite sure what to say so they ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Merlin’s consisted mostly of Gwaine, partly because he was genuinely confused as to his low demeanor but also as a way of avoiding the empty. Gwaine had been nearly ecstatic the last time Merlin had returned, vowing to never let the boy out of his sight again. But now he wouldn’t even look at him, as if his mere presence caused physical pain. He scowled slightly at the thought which caught Lancelot’s attention, “Merlin, is something wrong?” his panic poorly concealed. Arthur’s head whipped up from his stew at the man’s question. “What?” said Merlin, shaking himself from his musings, “He asked if you were alright” said Arthur sternly. “Yeah, I’m fine” he replied, “just not hungry” he added, seeing the wholly unimpressed look on Arthur’s face after his original answer. 

Just about every man had attempted to steal Merlin’s nightly duty of washing the pot and bowls but he desperately needed the alone time so he twisted and cajoled his way out of camp, dishes clanging at his side. Merlin hadn’t actually eaten any of his meal, opting to haphazardly push the contents around instead. The clink and scrape of the spoon combined with the now blended texture of the once chunky stew gave the impression that he had indeed ingested some of the food which was enough to stop any unwanted prodding. This led to a pang of guilt as he was forced to dump the contents of his still full bowl into the river. He hated wasting food but the stew was not made to keep and leaving it out would only attract animals during the night. He let out a small sigh as he began to scrub the bowls one by one, his mind drifting back to Gwaine’s strange behavior. Perhaps it was the unmissable magical quality of his resurrections that had Gwaine on edge. It was unlikely that he had figured out Merlin’s secret, the knight had all the subtlety of a dragon in a pottery shop and would not have hesitated to tell Merlin that he knew. No, something else was to blame. Maybe he feared Merlin cursed, maybe he could sense the darkness that Merlin could feel slipping in and had mistaken it for evil as opposed to a lack of anything at all. That idea was equally ridiculous. While Merlin was rather lackluster at keeping certain things secret, he was damn good at hiding pain, mental or physical. He turned over possibility after possibility but eventually the dishes were as shiny as they had ever been and he was forced to return to camp, having made no progress on his dilemma. 

Later that night as he lay staring at the canopy of stars, his thoughts had shifted from Gwaine back to the empty, which had darkened and fissured. Not even the memories of his time on the other side could push away the feeling anymore. It was as if he was being eaten from the inside out, the pitch chipping away his happiness and perhaps his sanity as well. A rustle of leaves and a muffled curse quickly pulled Merlin’s attention to the edge of camp. No matter how far gone he felt, Arthur’s safety would always be paramount. He needn’t have worried however as it was merely Gwaine tripping on his way to relieve Elyan of his watch. The shaggy knight flopped onto the ground and leant his back against the tree, allowing his head to thunk into the bark just hard enough to hurt. He’d turned his face upwards and was now staring at the sky as Merlin had been not moments before. In that moment Merlin made up his mind, he heaved himself from his prostrate position and pushed the heel of his hand into his chest as the empty pulsed, but his movements had been near silent so Gwaine did not notice his discomfort. Once the echoing beat had settled a bit, he slogged his way to the seated knight, making as much noise as he could so as not to startle the man. 

Gwaine watched his approach with an unreadable expression. Normally Merlin prided himself on his ability to read the knights, Arthur, Lancelot and Gwaine being at the top of that list. But this new attitude had muddied his perception. Everything felt off kilter and slightly out of focus as he met Gwaine’s eyes. He could already feel his muscles twitching with building energy and knew he would be unstoppable come morning, but he shoved the feeling down for now, needing answers from Gwaine. Needing to know that the knight did not hate him or worse, fear him. “You’ve been strangely quiet” he said as he settled himself next to Gwaine, farther than he normally would have but close enough that their hushed tones would not be overheard by meddlesome kings. “I don’t have much to say” was his gruff response. The strange tone of his voice only added to Merlin’s confusion and steadily rising terror. He wasn’t sure he could handle Gwaine leaving him, literally or metaphorically. Any abnormal distance from the man would likely be enough to shatter the thin barrier he had been maintaining to keep himself from tumbling headlong into the empty. Gwaine, for all his many shortcomings, was a hidden genius when it came to emotions, something Merlin had learned quite quickly after meeting the man. He never pulled his punches unless it was absolutely necessary and more often than not, he knew how people were feeling before they knew themselves. 

Gwaine’s shoulders sagged and his head dropped, “I’m sorry Merlin. I know none of this is your fault but it’s hard.” He raised his eyes to meet Merlin’s before continuing. “There isn’t much I can’t do out of stupidity or sheer determination but this…I feel helpless and it’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. I have to sit there and hope and pray that you come back to us, feeling like a twit with his thumb up his arse.” Merlin opened his mouth to say something but Gwaine held his hand up and barreled on. “As I said before, I know this isn’t your doing and my anger is directed wholly at myself, which is quite foolish in itself, but I can’t help it. Despite my innumerable attributes” his usual smug grin danced across his face, “I’ve never been able to keep rein of my emotions.” He finished. Merlin was wide eyed and open mouthed. This whole time he had been convincing himself that Gwaine was preparing to leave, that being near this new monstrosity that was Merlin was simply too much to bear. He was certain that Gwaine couldn’t deal with the hatred now coursing through him every time he laid eyes on him. Gwaine’s smile dropped and his hands flew up to grab Merlin’s face in a gentle but firm grasp. “Don’t you ever for a second think that I could hate you. You are the kindest most gentle and pure soul I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. You’re the farthest thing from a monster that the gods could create, okay? I would never leave you Merlin, not ever.” His calloused palm grazed across Merlin’s cheek as he moved one hand to cover his chest, “I swear on my honor as a man and my honor as knight that I will never leave your side.” His eyes were deadly serious, the usual spark of mirth was gone, replaced by an intensity that Merlin had never seen before. Unable to form words, Merlin lifted his hand up to cover the remaining one on his cheek and gave a small nod accompanied by what he knew to be a watery smile. Merlin certainly hadn’t meant to say those things aloud, but they seemed to be the push Gwaine needed to overcome his awkwardness and Merlin was immensely grateful. The tone shifted quickly, Gwaine melting back into his tavern dwelling persona as they traded jibes and stories until the twitter of birds began to ring through the trees. 

Merlin’s stomach hadn’t grumbled once throughout the night. He was almost always hungry, not because he wasn’t given enough to eat but simply because he had the metabolism of a hummingbird. Gaius had once suggested that it was something to do with his magic, that perhaps the sheer amount of power he held needed an immense amount of food to match. No matter the cause, when combined with his chasing after Arthur or saving the kingdom, he was ravenous nearly all day. He figured that his hunger would kick in by the time he had finished putting their breakfast together, but his stomach was still strangely silent, even as he watched Gwaine shovel an entire roll into his mouth. Even stranger than his lack of appetite was that he didn’t feel ill either. Nausea wasn’t turning his gut and his forehead was as frigid as ever. He certainly wasn’t full either which left only one source Merlin could see. It wasn’t a concern for him exactly, but it would prove irksome to hide from the knights who would only fuss unnecessarily. Not wanting any more food to go to waste and needing an excuse for motion, he wolfed down his bread and cheese before packing up the entire camp single handedly. A few raised eyebrows and a deeply displeased noise emanating from Arthur’s general direction did nothing to quell his flurry. They were a full hour ahead of schedule when they mounted up and began the trek back to Camelot. 

Arthur desperately hated that Merlin had died so many times that he could see patterns emerging in the aftermath. For days after each resurrection Merlin was restless, never able to sit still for more than a few minutes. He was pretty sure the record was 30. It had been a council meeting after the first death. For the first five or so minutes Merlin had stood still behind Arthur’s chair, like he always did, then he began to twitch. The motions were small, only noticeable if you had been watching. The twitching devolved into finger drumming, his long digits beating out an irregular rhythm on the metal jug clutched in his hands. Then it was foot tapping that matched the tempo of his fingers. Twenty minutes into the meeting and Merlin was practically vibrating, bouncing on his heels to relieve the restless energy coursing through him. His motions were now quite visible and quite distracting so Arthur kindly but sternly suggested that Merlin take his leave. The boy lunged for the table and left the jug teetering before he dashed from the room, the door falling shut a bit too harshly behind him. Arthur was worried but he had noticed Merlin’s increased agitation, so he pushed the fear aside in favor of apologizing for Merlin’s behavior and gesturing for the lord to continue his speech. 

When the meeting had finally concluded, Arthur went in search of his wayward manservant and found him polishing swords in the armory. Merlin paused when he saw the king, “Arthur, did you need something?” he asked. Arthur desperately wanted to voice his concern, but he was a king and kings don’t get concerned over their servants, even if their servants had been dead two days before. “I know your other chores may not be as entertaining, but I expect them to be done before you move on to other things” he said instead, motioning to the sword currently resting across Merlin’s legs. Merlin’s brow crinkled in confusion, it was infuriatingly endearing and set something aflutter in Arthur’s stomach that he refused to acknowledge. They stared at each other for a moment before Merlin’s face cleared and realization dawned, “Oh, I’ve finished everything else” he said, shrugging slightly. Arthur fought to keep his face neutral as he took in Merlin’s words. “Merlin” he said slowly, “There is no way that you’ve completed everything already, it’s not even midday.” He spoke with the same tone he used when he thought Merlin was being particularly dense. “No, really, I’ve done everything” Merlin said. Normally Arthur’s condescending tone would irritate the boy, sending him on some rant, but today he didn’t rise to the bait. 

Arthur fixed him with a stern look, “You’ve cleaned my chambers” he said, it wasn’t a question so much as a challenge, one that Merlin again refused to meet, head on at least. “Yep” he replied, nodding slightly. “You’ve done my laundry” Arthur tried again, “Yep” Merlin repeated. Arthur glanced around the armory, finding no sign of his armor he turned back to the boy. “You’ve cleaned and polished my armor” he said smugly, fully prepared to catch Merlin in a lie. “Yeah, it’s back in your chambers ready for your training session later.” He replied, turning back to his current task. “Oh, I’ve also mucked out the stables. I know I did it yesterday, but they looked a bit dirty” he said as an afterthought. Arthur was thankful that Merlin was no longer looking at him, he hadn’t been able to stop the agape expression that was currently plastered to his face. “Right…well carry on” he said lamely, unsure of how to handle this new side of Merlin. Desperately grasping for some sense of normalcy, Arthur had been about to remind Merlin of his duties in terms of lunch but Merlin beat him to the punch and pulled the rug out from beneath him once again. “I’m almost done here, just a few more left, then I’ll get you your lunch” he said, still not turning to look at Arthur. It was Arthurs turn to be confused as Merlin’s words settled. He noticed that the sword currently being polished was not one of his, it was a training sword. He let his eyes wander over the racks and realized that almost every single sword in the armory was gleaming. The half full rack sitting next to Merlin was the only one that contained dull metal. Merlin had cleaned and polished them all, “Merlin” Arthur breathed out. This caught Merlin’s attention and he turned to look at Arthur, worry creasing his brow. “Arthur, what is it?” he questioned. “I…um” Arthur floundered, trying to find his footing, “Nothing… just…don’t be late with lunch” was what he landed on before turning and stalking from the room. He hated that Merlin was so transparent in his concern for Arthur’s wellbeing when he could never return the favor, at least not when the boy was conscious. Merlin had and always would deserve far better than Arthur. 

The jittery energy would fade after a few days and everything would return to normal, well except for Arthur’s dreams, those never recovered after Merlin’s first demise. His motionless and blood-soaked body seemed to visit him every night. After his most recent brush, those visions had begun to crowd his waking hours as well, leaving Arthur gasping and pushing his hands harshly into his eyes, willing away the horrific imagery. In an attempt to push them from his mind, he began to watch Merlin more carefully. Not like he had the first time, this was more of a reassurance that he was alive and all his internal organs were just that, internal. This increased vigilance allowed him to notice that something was different about the boy. Despite being comparable to a twig, he was almost constantly shoving food into his mouth. Pilfering it from Arthur’s plate, the kitchens, anything he could get his hands on really. So now that Arthur’s plates were reaching him full and the cook had not complained about missing rolls or tarts, he knew something was wrong. As he and Merlin had gotten closer, his manservant’s actions had become more brash. He would insult Arthur far more openly and nick a stray grape or sausage from his plate, well aware that the King was looking right at him. Arthur would toss something at the boy in retaliation, usually another item off his plate. Merlin’s reflexes would make a rare appearance and he would catch whatever the object was and pop it into his mouth with a smug grin that had Arthur huffing in equal parts annoyance and bemusement. All this to say that Merlin hadn’t snagged a single thing from his plate since his death and when the occasional piece of food was chucked in his direction, he allowed it bounce off his frame or sail past him to strike something else in the room, fixing Arthur with an irritated look.

Everything came to a head when once again Lancelot questioned him on a hunt. They had been out for three days so far, tracking arguably the largest stag Arthur had ever seen. “You haven’t been eating lately” he said, less question more pointed statement. Merlin looked up from the fire and met Lancelot’s eyes before shifting his gaze to Arthur who was looking slightly horrified. Arthur was kicking himself for just now realizing that he hadn’t seen the man eat in three days, nothing, not even a Gwaine prompted apple. Instead of looking apologetic or defensive, two reactions that the king had been expecting, he merely looked…tired. Not physically, he didn’t get tired, not anymore. He just looked drained, like he’d been carrying a weight for just past too long. “I think it’s another side effect” he said lowly, looking back down to the fire. “What do you mean?” Lancelot questioned, clearly handling the situation better than Arthur who was still trying to grasp a solid train of thought. His reply was spoken into the flames, “The first time I died it was the cold, my body temperature never came back up. Then it was sleep, I didn’t need it nor could I actually get any even if I wanted to. This time it was eating I guess. I’m never hungry, never full, never lose or gain weight.” He shrugged, finally looking up. He found Arthurs face first which was forming a scowl born of intense thought, but which Merlin misconstrued as anger. His eyes widened slightly, “I haven’t been wasting any food, I swear. I only pack what you lot will need, and I told Gaius a while ago, so he hasn’t been wasting money unnecessarily either.” He rushed out. Arthur’s face cleared at this, of course the idiot would assume he was upset about waste, not upset about the fact that it was clearly hurting Merlin, even if not physically. 

While recent events had certainly aided the king on his quest for emotional freedom, he was still greatly hindered by his father’s ever lurking shadow and the lessons that had been drilled into him from childhood. “I’m not upset, I just wish you would have told me” he said grumpily instead of encasing the boy in a hug he was desperate to give and receive. While Arthur had only clocked Merlin’s unease over waste Lancelot had captured the bigger picture, or at least a small portion of it. He had pegged the boy’s distress as merely relating to food now being a non-necessity. While not physically harmful or particularly abrasive, he imagined that such a drastic change to a habit 22 years in the making was a bit unsettling. Lancelot was partly correct in this assumption, however, Merlin had cleared this hurdle a few days after it became obvious that food was no longer needed to keep his body functioning. Instead the boy was finding it harder and harder to hide the empty. The first two times he had died, he was able to convince himself that he was simply reacting to the loss of his loved ones on the other side, but his most recent death was different somehow. The empty had never abated, it pulsed and thrummed every time he was unoccupied and flared at random. 

That evening had been particularly brutal for reasons Merlin could not put his finger on. He felt as if every time he got a firm grip on his life something changed or was pushed just a little past comfort. He was usually able to reason himself into keeping his magic from Arthur, making sure his head stayed on his shoulders, making sure Arthur’s head stayed on his shoulders. Making sure Arthur didn’t hate him or send him away which ended up with him circling back to ensuring Arthur remained alive. While his grip as of late on this particular facet had been tenuous at best, the new, odd weight of the empty had sent that spiraling. Obviously, his head wasn’t an issue anymore, seeing as he would wake with it melded back to his neck. But Arthur’s was still very much in danger, so the helpless tug he felt towards releasing his secret was disconcerting. Gaius told him on a near daily basis that despite the great strides the king had made, it was still too soon to reveal his magic. Even Lancelot who had been his major counterweight in the past seemed hesitant. While Arthur may be able to take Merlin having magic, it would be glaringly obvious how powerful he was right off the bat. With his powers revealed, the king would no doubt realize that it was his own magic that was bringing him back again and again, at least partly. And even Arthur, who had a toddler sized understanding of magic at best, would know that this was no small feat. He knew that he couldn’t share this part of himself with Arthur, even if he wanted to. But his brain had developed a sort of carelessness as of late, due most likely to that hollowed out space inside of him, and it was getting harder and harder to talk himself out of this hole.


	7. Death is a Party, Invite All Your Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been about 4 hours, it’s just past 3 AM and I have somehow birthed this monstrosity of a chapter. I debated about publishing it then I debated about splitting it into two separate chapters. I decided to publish it because I feel like having more of this story out there will push me to keep writing it, I hope. I also decided to keep it as once chapter, mostly because I am very lazy. Anyhoo, there is every possibility that this chapter is terrible and my sleep deprived brain only thought it was good in which case I’m very sorry. I’m also sorry for this stupidly long note and what is no doubt horrific grammar. 
> 
> The title for this chapter is from a song by a band called Palaye Royale. They are wonderful and you should give them a listen. 
> 
> Last thing, I promise. This chapter is pretty gruesome so just fair warning. Happy reading :)

It was silly, monumentally so. He hadn’t even done any magic. His mother always had a way with plants, and she had passed on some of her knowledge to him. So when he saw an ailing garden in one of the yards, he figured he’d lend a hand. It was a simple matter of placement, whoever tended the garden had placed the potatoes and the tomatoes right next to each other, interfering with both of their yields. The tomato plants were also obscuring the sun for some of the smaller plants as well as the flowers a bit farther down. He decided to wait for the owner to make an appearance before rearranging his garden, but no one ever showed. They were spending a few days in the town, it was serving as a base of sorts while Arthur travelled around the neighboring villages, hearing concerns and basking in the attention of an occasional fan. It was something he did every few months, partly to get out of the castle for a bit, but mostly because he was a good king and genuinely cared about the people of his kingdom, even those who resided on the outermost edges. 

Just three days after Merlin’s completely nonmagical interference in the garden, some shoots that had previously been shadowed were now growing. The tomatoes looked far better and the smaller flowers were blooming. The previously lackluster plot had transformed into an aesthetically pleasing mix of life that Merlin was quite proud of. The flowers grew in pinks, purples and some especially eye catching blues while the tomatoes had developed a rosy tint all intermixed with the lush green of fresh sprouts. He was never sure who had blown the metaphorical whistle but the next thing he knew he was being led to a stake in the woods and set aflame. 

He would have used his magic were it not for the original debilitating blow to the head. The culprit was apparently a shovel wielding woman, as Leon would later discover. None of the knights were in the village at the moment so even if he had been able to muster up the energy or air to scream, he doubted they would have heard. It was due to some minor miracle, no matter how late, that Gwaine and Percival had been passing by, heading for the river to clean off after a day of traipsing through the woods. They smelt the smoke and the acrid stench of burning flesh before they saw the flames. Unaware of who was currently being eaten by said flames, they stormed into the small clearing, Gwaine bellowing and Percival shoving aside the villagers. Merlin had no concept of how long he had been there, but he was certain it had been ages. He came around when the flames began to lick at his toes and he was fully conscious by the time they began to greedily consume his trousers and the skin underneath. 

By the time Gwaine and Percival had crashed the party so to speak, the blaze had crested well above his head. Gwaine was yelling inches from the face of a stern old man who refused to budge on the morality of his decision to string the boy up, seeing as it was his garden that had been so brutally victimized. “Meddlesome little toad, I’m doing you and the king a favor. You should be rewarding me for saving you from that beast” he spat. This gave Gwaine pause and a wave of cold dread knifed through his body. That wave grew and became a raging inferno much like the one blazing at his back and heating the metal of his armor, when Percival let out a horrified yell and shoved both of his arms into the fire. Gwaine whirled around to find the burly man pulling the person away from the stack of burning wood. He whipped his cape off and patted Percival’s arms as Percival used his own cloak to put out the spots of ember and flame still clinging to what Gwaine could now make out to be a young boy.

Gwaine was in shock so the yells of the approaching knights and Percival’s low panicked muttering did not register in his brain. He had known that it was too late to save the person the moment the pyre had come into view. The villagers had used some sort of oak to fuel the fire meaning the flames burned hot but produced little to no smoke. People died of burns, not of smoke inhalation and the towering height of the flames suggested that the damage had been done. Percival had lived a similar life to Gwaine’s prior to earning his knighthood, he was bound to be aware of these facts, so why had he risked such severe injury to save a lost cause. The thought burned through him once Arthur’s pained yell permeated the veil of shock that had enveloped him. “Merlin!” Gwaine slowly let his gaze wander to the person smoking on the ground. The first thing to catch his eye was the singed but still noticeably red fabric draped around his neck. “By the gods” was all he could manage as Merlin’s blackened face came into view. There was dried blood covering the right side of his face and clearly crusted into his hair. His pale skin was marred with ash and a few small marks from stray embers that had seared into his skin. Arthur was knelt by his side now, Lancelot skidding to his knees on the other. The king’s hands grasped Merlin’s cheeks, but he did not stir. “Is he alive?” Elyan’s voice prompted from above. Lancelot gently pushed his fingers into Merlin’s neck. After a moment of tense silence he bowed his head, allowing his shoulders to fall and a breath to release from his straining lungs, “Yes, he’s alive.” Elyan shouldered into their huddled group, “I have some experience with burns sire” he said. Arthur gave a weak nod in affirmation and Elyan sent Leon off to get Merlin’s medical bag. 

It was a few hours later and the knights were planning their next move, ideally one that would keep Merlin breathing. Gwaine had dealt with the villagers, his ire combined with Percival’s size and both of their swords had sent the lot scurrying back to their homes. Elyan was grim-faced as he did what he could, which wasn’t much. The last of the pain tonic had been used on a local man who had broken his wrist the day before and what little supplies Merlin did have for treating burns were meant for those of smaller size and less severity. Everything below the bony tops of his shoulders was burnt, skin sloughing off. White bone could be seen peeking out from parts of his lower legs and most of the skin, fascia, and muscle from his feet were completely gone. If he did survive this, which was highly unlikely, he would most certainly never walk again. Elyan was no physician but he had seen his fair share of burns during his time as a blacksmith. Nothing this severe had ever occurred on his watch but he had heard stories of men whose organs had boiled from the heat of the flames. Merlin was still alive, so this clearly had not happened but some level of damage to those internal structures was almost certain. He tried to relay this to his friends as gently as he could. Most took it at face value and resigned themselves to yet another one of Merlin’s deaths, but the king seemed to ignore this. “We will ride for Camelot at once” he said, turning to begin preparations for their departure. 

“This is only prolonging his suffering, he’ll come back” said Lancelot, a slight pleading leaking into his voice. “You can’t know that” snapped Arthur, “We bring him to Gaius” he finished. Lancelot was prepared to concede but a hitch in Merlin’s breathing followed by a slight whimper that Arthur was too far away to catch renewed his fight. “Gaius won’t be able to save him” he said hotly, desperately trying to get the king to see sense. “Yes, he will. I don’t want another word out of you. Prepare your things, we leave once everyone is ready.” The knights were clearly uncomfortable with the decision, but they did not argue. Arthur turned to address Lancelot and his face softened slightly. He was still on his knees next to Merlin, as he had been since first skidding into the clearing. Arthur knew the knight was just as worried as he was, his anger was misplaced so he tempered it. “You stay with him while we pack everything up. I’ll let you know when we are ready to leave” he said, his attempt at smoothing over Lancelot’s obvious contempt. There was no acknowledgment from the man, but Arthur could see the fight drain out of him and knew he had won so he turned on his heels and stalked off towards his horse. 

Merlin let out another pained noise and a dark thought crossed Lancelot’s mind. He knew damn well that this decision would haunt him for the rest of his life but the preservation of his conscious wasn’t worth Merlin’s suffering. He looked over his shoulder to make sure everyone was occupied before unbuckling the latch at his throat and pulling off the cape. He folded it a few times, ensuring that the fabric formed a thick enough layer before taking a deep unsteady breath and pushing the layered cloth to Merlin’s soot stained face. He held it there, allowing the boy to thrash weakly. His protesting movement was nowhere near enough to dislodge his hand but it was enough to send spikes of pain shooting through the knight’s chest. All to quickly and all too slowly his struggling ceased and he fell still. Lancelot didn’t lift the cape, not yet. He had to ensure that he was truly gone. The silence where fingertips met neck told the knight that he had just witnessed Merlin die for the third time. Whether or not he came back, Lancelot would never regret his decision. It would hurt and ache and burn, but he would never regret it, not for Merlin’s sake at least. 

Arthur’s voice, cold and deadly, sounded from behind him, “What the hell have you done”. Lancelot slowly removed the cape from Merlin’s face and stood. He did not want to turn around and see the look of anger, betrayal and sadness that would no doubt be adorning the king’s face but a harsh hand on his shoulder gave him little choice. Pain pulsed down his arm as Arthur wrenched him around, digging his fingers into the flesh. “You bastard” the last word rang through the clearing alerting the other knights who rushed forward simultaneously. Arthur’s posture spoke of nothing but violence, and that it was so clearly directed at Lancelot was concerning to say the least. Feet shuffled and skidded in the leaves as the pieces came together. Merlin’s limp body, the reverently folded red cape placed next to his head, the clear indent of a face pushed into the fine cloth. Lancelot had killed Merlin. 

Gwaine moved first, pulling the seething king off of the motionless knight. His eyes spoke of pain, and fire and no small amount of hate, all directed at Lancelot but he wrenched Arthur’s hand off all the same. The other knights could only stare at him in poorly concealed horror. “What are you doing Gwaine, get off of me. He killed him. He murdered Merlin. That’s a crime punishable by death”, the king twisted and fought but Gwaine’s hold remained firm. “I don’t necessarily agree with his actions, but the outcome was ultimately the same” Leon said in an attempt to stop the thrashing man. “He was in pain Arthur. He never would have made it to Gaius, you know that as well as I” Lancelot said, finally looking up to meet the fiery blue eyes of his king. “Merlin never would have given up on you” Arthur spat, “You’re right, but he was also a man of mercy and he would have known that this was not a survivable injury.” This did nothing to calm him, so Lancelot tried a different tactic. “You know the pain of a burn Arthur. Imagine that tenfold and covering every inch of your body without any balms or tonic for relief. Would you really have wanted Merlin to feel that for any longer than he already had?” he asked gently. Arthur sagged, chest heaving. He pulled himself from Gwaine’s grasp and stalked off into the forest. Percival looked green, armed with a more visceral and current understanding of that statement as his arms throbbed beneath the hastily wrapped linen. “Merlin will be able to make something to take care of those when he returns” said Lancelot. His voice was as far from confident as one could get. The short-lived nature of Merlin’s death was something the men were smart enough not to rely on. It hadn’t been investigated, questioned or even really spoken about other than to ensure Merlin’s well-being for fear of breaking whatever had caused it and therefore their knowledge of the events was minimal. Their luck could run out at any point and the brutality of this death seemed a likely precursor to failure. 

Blessedly, the boy floundered back to life a few hours later. Hugs abounded but Lancelot stayed back, fearing the boy’s reaction to his act. Merlin however had been far from aware of his surroundings and had no concrete memories beyond pain and suffering. The knight breathed a small breath of relief when Merlin gave him a smile, it was less radiant than normal but that was understandable. “I’m going to nab some clothes from one of the villagers.” Said Gwaine, his tone darkening as he remembered the hoard of bloodthirsty mongrels that had surrounded the pyre. “No Gwaine, it’s alright I brought spares. That was my only pair of boots however” Merlin replied, looking forlornly at his bare feet, toes curling into the soil. “fine then, boots it is” Merlin snaked his arm out to stop the knight, “You can’t take anyone’s shoes Gwaine, they likely don’t have the means to purchase another pair” he reasoned. Gwaine’s fury, while not directed at Merlin was still unexpected. “They’ll be lucky if shoes are the only thing I take from them” he snarled. Merlin pulled back slightly, shocked by the intensity of the knight’s stare. “Gwaine” he admonished, “No Merlin, they burned you at the fucking stake alright. The only reason they aren’t paying for that crime with their lives is because we’ve been too busy worrying about you. I’m well aware that you won’t let justice be carried out in this instance, you’re far too selfless for that. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to let their actions cause you even one more ounce of discomfort.” he paused taking in Merlin’s expression. Letting out a sigh he continued “Don’t argue with me about the shoes. I’ll wrestle them onto your bony feet myself if I have to, smell be damned” he finished. His tone still held a hard edge but was beginning to melt into his normal joviality. The light jab he had tacked onto the end of his speech told Merlin that he would not harm anyone, so he nodded and let the man raise negligible hell. 

The sun was beginning its descent, but they all wanted as much distance as possible between them and the still cloying scent of Merlin’s melted flesh, so as soon as Merlin was freshly clothed and sporting a dusty pair of leather boots they mounted up and headed out. They traveled in relative silence for some time, no one quite sure what to say. This was fine by Merlin seeing as the lack of activity did little to temper the raging of the empty. He wasn’t sure he could hold a conversation while the pit inside him was seeming to stretch and tear, sucking up more and more of him as it grew. Arthur ordered them to stop, seemingly happy with the distance they had created. The real reason for their halt was the safety of the horses and his men, it was far too dark to travel any farther, even if Arthur was certain he could still smell singed hair, it was unlikely that the smell would ever leave his memory anyway. 

Merlin had pulled the flint and steel from his pack quite by accident and now stared at the two objects in his hand. Flashes of fire and smoke and unbearable pain bombarded him as the steel caught the moonlight and glinted innocently. A large hand encased his shoulder while the other wrapped around his own, pulling the objects from his grasp. He let out a breath and looked up at Percival who merely nodded before walking towards the center of camp. Gwaine was shooting him a sideways look and gave him a small smile when he noticed Merlin’s attention had shifted. Merlin gave an even smaller one in return, but it was still a smile, a feat only a living person could accomplish.

Percival kicked himself for not being more aware while starting the fire. Merlin had been just across from him, fiddling with the ties of his bedroll when the spark had caught, sending the fire roaring to life. Percival realized a moment too late as Merlin’s eyes widened and he flailed backwards, bedroll tumbling to the ground. His heel caught on the log behind him and he followed the bedroll. His fall did nothing to temper or distract from his panic as he began to claw his way backwards, away from the fire Percival had so carelessly started. Arthur rushed to his side and angled his body so it blocked Merlin’s view of the flames. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wild, tearing across Arthur’s face but not seeing. “Merlin, calm down. You’re safe ok.” Merlin’s vision cleared somewhat and he focused on Arthur who folded him into his arms without a second thought. The king had never seen terror that unbridled or intense in his life. Certainly never on Merlin who deserved only laughter and happiness. Merlin shakily returned the hug and Arthur only released him once he could feel the boy’s breath even out. His hands dragged down Arthur’s arms as he pulled away and the king became aware of a thick wetness on his wrist as Merlin’s hand skimmed over it. He looked down to find a swipe of blood across his skin and slowly dripping from the boy’s palm. “Merlin” he said gently, afraid to rile him again, “I think you caught your hand on something” he finished, pulling the extremity in question closer to his own body for inspection. It was a fairly deep cut and would need stiches, a task that Leon set to while the others prepared for the night.

Since Merlin was clearly not setting foot near the fire someone else was going to have to make dinner. That person somehow ended up being Gwaine. The knight was rarely the one to cook the meals on excursions. He had what could only be described as a daring palate, which either paid off immensely for those consuming his creations or made them regret befriending the man in the first place. Merlin was well aware of this fact and was extremely reluctant to partake in the meal, especially since he didn’t need it. But he knew it made the knights uncomfortable when he didn’t join them. They were apparently never fully convinced that he could actually go without, so he conceded and sat on the very edge of the log, as far from the fire as he could possibly get. Gwaine dished out the stew and handed Merlin his bowl last, knowing the boy would protest if he was placed any further up the proverbial food chain.

He pushed the travel beaten bowl into the outstretched hand, catching the flash of white linen too late seeing as Merlin’s hand was already curling around the dish. “Oh gods, I’m sorry Merlin” he said hastily. Merlin’s brow scrunched in confusion, “what are you talking about?” he questioned. “I…your hand” said Gwaine lamely. “Oh, right.” Replied Merlin looking down at the hand wrapped firmly around the bowl. His brow furrowed further as he mulled over the past few minutes. It hadn’t hurt when he had acquired the injury nor when Leon had sutured it closed, but he blamed that on the adrenaline still coursing through him from when the fire had seemingly sprouted from his waking nightmare. He hadn’t felt even a twinge of pain since and Merlin knew that the rough edge of the bowl should have caused at least some discomfort. Arthur cleared his throat, a terribly unsubtle way of drawing Merlin from his thoughts. “I guess I’m still a bit worked up” he said in explanation. No one looked pleased with that reply, but no one questioned it either.

After the men had finished what was thankfully a delicious meal, they settled into uncomfortable, near idle chatter. The conversation meandered through the happenings in the outlying villages and Merlin quickly lost track of it. He was staring at his palm. The white cloth was beginning to pink slightly across the palm and Merlin was sure that the wound should be throbbing. He pushed the thumb of his other hand directly into the line of coloring fabric but felt nothing. He was aware of the pressure of his thumb pushing into the skin but nothing to suggest that there was a nasty laceration beneath it. No pain, no irritation, not even an ounce of discomfort. He would later blame ‘the empty’ for his lack of judgment or forethought but currently he had neither. He pulled Arthur’s gifted knife from the foreign boot on his foot and pulled his sleeve up his arm. Lancelot had been quiet since the events in the clearing earlier that day, so his sudden cry of alarm had all the knights whipping their heads in his direction. He was halfway across the camp but Gwaine beat him to it, yanking the knife from Merlin’s grasp and folding his other hand tightly over the new injury on his forearm. “What the hell, mate” he said breathlessly. Merlin didn’t answer, his gaze fixed to where blood was beginning to leak from beneath Gwaine’s iron grip and drip onto the leaves below. “Merlin, I’m serious. Look at me” the rough, desperate tone of his voice caught Merlin’s attention and he looked up at the shaggy knight. “I can’t feel it” he said, hardly more than a whisper. “What?” questioned Arthur, the panic in his voice matching that which was writ across his face. “The cut, it doesn’t hurt. Neither does the one from before” he said, his voice a little louder. “You’re probably still in shock” Leon reasoned, “It’s understa-” “No, trust me it’s not shock” Merlin interrupted. He got more than one questioning look, “I’ve worked with Gaius for well over five years now, not to mention actually experiencing shock for myself on at least four separate occasions. This is not shock”. 

Merlin had put the pieces together quite rapidly once the daze had abated. Apparently the next piece of him to disappear was the sensation of pain. He couldn’t find it within himself to be upset with this particular loss. “Another side effect?” questioned Lancelot lightly. The Knights quiet demeanor and the strange atmosphere had not escaped Merlin’s notice but he had yet to find the time to address either. Every word he had spoken thus far had felt like the man was attempting to make his way across a thawing lake in late winter, as if one misplaced foot would send him careening into the icy waters below. Merlin nodded an affirmation, looking back down to his arm and Gwaine’s steadfast grip. “I suppose there were better ways to test the theory though” he said, humor somehow seeping into his tone. “How are you taking this so well” said Arthur from above him. He sounded exasperated which was understandable but when Merlin rose his head to meet his gaze he saw anger there too. Without his permission Merlin found his own rising to meet it. “You’re angry” he said flatly, addressing the king. “Of course I’m angry, Merlin” he bellowed. “You died not even a few hours ago and you’re acting as if that’s a normal everyday occurrence. You were killed by a friend I might add” he continued, voice still deafening in his anger. Some of that anger was still very clearly directed at Lancelot and perhaps he was hoping to get Merlin on board with that anger by bringing up the perceived crime. Merlin looked to Lancelot as the words registered. There was no anger or resentment in his eyes, both emotions that Lancelot had been fully expecting. Instead a strange look came over the boy’s face before he turned back to the king and continued on as if Lancelot had not just been outed for murdering his best friend. “How would you like me to act Arthur? Would you rather I be curled up in a ball, sobbing in some corner?” He spoke with a level of cynicism that was quite startling to the still gathered men. “No, of course not. I just don’t believe that you’ve really allowed yourself to think through what is happening” Arthur reasoned. Merlin’s tone had leached him of his anger left with only a somewhat detached irritation. 

“All I’ve been bloody doing since I woke up in that damn grave is thinking. I don’t die, that’s glaringly obvious. But if I can survive having my skull caved in, getting gutted, having my neck sliced open and literally being burnt at the stake then age probably won’t kill me either. Which means I’ll go on living and I’ll go on dying, having little bits of myself stripped away every time.” Merlin said his anger leeching back in, beginning to seethe and boil beneath his skin. “You do die Merlin, you just come back. But those deaths are traumatic for us.” Arthur countered gently, hoping to calm the rising ire. “Traumatic for you?” Merlin stormed. “How the fuck do you think they make me feel. I go through this unimaginable pain until finally it’s gone and I’m back there with my friends and family. People I might add, that you have taken from me. I can see them and smell them and touch them. Then I’m ripped away and brought back to this world were the last thing I remember is having a sword slide through my stomach or being burnt alive. This no pain novelty has been the best thing I’ve lost to date. I only wish it had been sooner. Then maybe I wouldn’t remember what it feels like to have my flesh bubble and peel away from my bones. I could smell myself, Arthur. Hell, I could taste myself. And then the fire was gone but the pain wasn’t, it was somehow worse and Lancelot was the only one with enough guts to do anything about it. Then whatever cruel deity is doing this, bringing me back again and again, decided to make that pain stop too. The physical pain at least, the mental pain and suffering is still there, the only difference is I can’t do anything about that.” Merlin finished, his chest heaving in and out. No one spoke for several seconds but Gwaine’s hand had slipped off his arm at some point during his rant, likely when he had shot to his feet. Without the steady pressure, the wound was beginning to weep again and the sensation of blood trailing down his arm had Gaius’s voice ringing through his head. He could still get an infection and while it couldn’t permanently kill him, there was no promise that the discomfort of such an affliction was covered by this new side effect. He removed himself from the group of stunned men and stalked towards the woods, grabbing his medicine bag on the way. He was wholly unaware of the turmoil he had left behind.


	8. No Rest For The Wicked or Weary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is far from done but I got tired of it sitting on my computer collecting dust.

Arthur had been steadfastly ignoring Merlin’s dying light up until this point. Each death seemed to push the boy further and further away from the bright bubbly person that had crashed into Arthur’s life all those years ago. His eyes seemed dimmer and his shoulders more hunched, as if the ground was trying to physically pull him down. Merlin’s outburst however had forced the king to confront it and Arthur detested being forced to do anything. He knew he was going to have to address the issue and the only way to pull anything out of Merlin at the moment was with blunt emotion, yet another thing he hated. Court life had instilled in him a very circuitous way of dealing with and expressing any emotions, negative and positive both. Merlin had been the first person in his life to truly push that boundary and Arthur was secretly grateful for it every day, it gave him the relationships he had today. He had no doubt that without him, he would still be that arrogant prat that had goaded the goofy boy in the lower town. Aiming for a fight he knew he would win, purely to boost his ego. This was how he found himself staring at Merlin who was in turn staring at the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. He had been doing that a lot lately, staring into flames, whether it be candles or cooking fires. It made sense considering what had happened in that awful little village, but it grated on Arthur’s already chafed nerves. 

“Merlin” he said, drawing the boy’s attention “I need you to talk to me.” Merlin gave him an odd look, “I do talk to you” he responded. There was snark in the reply, but it was low lying and nowhere near as blatant as Arthur strangely wanted it to be. “I” the king huffed out a breath. His plan was already fraying at the edges, he really wasn’t built for this. But for Merlin he would have to be. “Yes, you do talk but not about anything important. I need you to tell me what’s going in that head of yours. As you’ve told me many times before, it’s unhealthy to keep everything bottled up.” that was better. Merlin’s lack of an answer suggested that it wasn’t enough. “Let me help you Merlin, please.” Arthur finished, not hiding the pleading in his voice or allowing the pain and compassion in his eyes to be shadowed by his title. Merlin looked away and barked out a bitter laugh, “You can’t help me Arthur, no one can.” The king felt irritation begin to bubble in his chest but he knew that anger and arguing would get them nowhere, so he took a deep breath and altered his approach. “Fine, I may not be able to help you in the literal sense but you don’t have to carry this by yourself.” Arthur took another breath, steeling himself for his next statement. As much as Arthur wanted to be Merlin’s confidant, wanted Merlin to place his trust in him and believe that Arthur wouldn’t let him fall, he knew that the boy needed to speak to someone. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but you have to tell someone. Please…just let someone in.” Merlin looked up again, his face softer now, like perhaps the wall he had put up to block himself from view was finally crumbling, or at least becoming a bit more transparent. His gaze was intense, but Arthur refused to look away. They were standing on the edge of a cliff and he prayed that Merlin would take the leap and allow him to follow. 

The silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity before Merlin’s voice shattered it, “Do you remember how you felt when you got to see your mother again?” he asked gently. Arthur had no idea where this was going but Merlin’s face was more open than it had been in weeks and his voice had lost its sharp edge, so Arthur simply nodded, not willing to interrupt the man with words of his own. Merlin broke eye contact but continued to speak, “Now imagine being able to stay there, being able to be with her forever. Imagine the possibility of spending the rest of eternity wrapped in her arms.” His gaze was fixed on the fire once again. “Now imagine having that ripped away knowing you will only ever be gifted fleeting glimpses of that feeling, never able to keep hold of it. Then as well as losing that warmth, you begin to lose pieces of yourself. Getting farther and farther from human each time your heart stops. At what point do I become a monster, at what point does this unbearable repetition break me and turn me into an emotionless animal that has no basic needs or wants but the power of the world at its fingertips.” He stops here, looking up to meet Arthur’s eyes. A desperate sadness and something Arthur thinks may be panic bleeding from the blue depths. “At what point will you be forced to turn your sword on me?” he asks, his voice is frail, brittle, painfully breakable and the words steal the air from Arthur’s lungs in a harsh whoosh. Merlin is still staring at Arthur, desperately searching for something, a lifeline perhaps. “I could never hurt you Merlin” he says, his own voice is shaky and slightly breathless. “You might have to Arthur. I can feel it. My sanity slipping away, little by little. It’s like trying to grab smoke.” Arthur’s mind was in shambles, nothing that had just come out the boy’s mouth had been even remotely close to what he was expecting. He’d been preparing for talks of waking nightmares and other such traumas, not a near desperate plea for Arthur to end his life.

He said the only thing that came to mind then kicked himself for his stupidity and emotional constipation. “Even if I physically could, it wouldn’t stick.” Merlin gives him a slightly pitying and self-deprecating smile, “I think your sword could. I think Excalibur could end it for good” he said. Arthur felt the burn of the sword at his hip like a brand, wishing desperately to pull the offending object from his side and toss it away. Merlin had, likely knowingly, given him the one thing that could steal him from this world forever. The thought horrified Arthur. Had this been his plan all along, an assisted suicide of sorts? Arthur couldn’t bear it and grabbed the boy in front of him. He pulled him into his arms and whispered a litany of useless promises and assurances into the now shaking boy’s hair. Merlin’s shaking dissolved from physical tremors into body lurching sobs and then into quiet tears followed by muted sniffles. Arthur felt his own cheeks slowly become painted with tears, but his hands were far too busy encasing Merlin to wipe them away. 

They stayed wrapped in each-other’s arms until the sun had set and the moonlight began to cast pane stitched shadows across the floor. Merlin was the first to pull away, wiping his face with a ratty sleeve. The creases of Arthur’s shirt had left small indents along the side of his face and his hair was mussed. The sight pulled at the king’s heart and he had to fight the urge to pull him back in. “You see people…when you die” Arthur prompted, sensing that Merlin wouldn’t speak without some gentle prodding. He nodded, “Will, Freya and my father” he was fiddling with his shirtsleeve as he spoke, gently tugging on one of the many free hanging threads. The name Freya didn’t mean anything to Arthur, and he had up until this moment been under the impression that Merlin had not known his father. Normally Arthur would have pressed these unknowns, but that wasn’t his priority right now. He filed the information away for later. Merlin looked more dejected than Arthur had ever seen him, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for his hunched form. He put his hand underneath his chin and tilted it up so the boy was forced to meet his eyes, “If you can’t die for them, then live for us.” He searched the blue depths of Merlin’s eyes before sealing his fate so to speak, “Live for me”. The melancholy fog that had surrounded him seemed to lift slightly at Arthur’s words. Disbelief slipped into its place but made way for a new spark that Arthur was cautiously optimistic about. The light wasn’t the one that used to be permanently contained within his eyes, but it was leagues better than the dull look that had resided there more recently. He smiled at Merlin and received one in return. It again paled in comparison to his old grin, the one that would split his face and seemed to warm the entire room, Arthur still took it gladly. 

The king regretted his optimism looking back at that conversation. Merlin was no longer sullen, instead he had become reckless, horrifically so. It was an attribute that the boy had always possessed, especially when his loved ones were on the line. He would jump headlong into any situation if he thought he could save someone even the tiniest amount of pain or suffering. This new attitude he had adopted however, was on an entirely different level. It outstripped his normal ill-advised acts of heroism and was now past the line of suicidal as well. Even suicidal didn’t quite fit the demeanor, and not just because he couldn’t actually die. It was as if any regard he’d ever had for himself was gone. He acted like a machine that’s only purpose was to protect those around him. Arthur would never tell Merlin this of course, in his mind machine was likely too close to monster. But despite his devil-may-care manner, he could never be considered even remotely close to a monster. His destruction was violently self-directed and when a threat did come around, they were dealt with in a way that almost bordered on compassionate. Merlin doled out mercy far more than death, something Arthur was certain he would always do. The other knights had noticed his change of attitude as well and they had all made comments in passing, but after Merlin had literally thrown himself into a mostly frozen river to go after one of Arthur’s dagger’s they all knew it was time for an intervention. 

The dagger in question had been driven into the back of a bandit who’d been seconds from beheading an otherwise occupied Gwaine. The man stumbled and tripped before lurching over the bank and tumbling into the icy water. Gwaine whipped around at the splash and shot Arthur a grateful smile before lunging back into the fight. It was only after all the men had been killed or otherwise incapacitated that they noticed Merlin’s absence. Arthur’s mind immediately ventured to Merlin’s first death and his heart rate picked up tenfold. The other knights clearly had similar thoughts as they began to shout the servants name with varying degrees of panic. Percival was the first to spot the bedraggled boy as he heaved himself onto the bank a few hundred yards down. He was lying on his back, arms spread out to his sides with his eyes closed. The only signs of life were the surging of his chest visible through the drenched tunic and the puffs of air ghosting from his mouth. The men thundered towards his prone form. Just because he was breathing now didn’t mean he would continue to do so if he’d been injured. Merlin clearly had heard their approach as he hefted something straight into the air, the other arm still splayed out on the ground. The object caught the sun and Arthur’s fear was squashed by a surge of anger as he realized what the idiot had clenched in his fist. 

Gwaine skidded to his knees beside Merlin, unaware or simply uncaring of the piece of glinting metal still held aloft. He let his arm flop back down and Gwaine winced when the back of his hand collided roughly with the frozen, pebble strewn shore. Through his anger, the king swept his eyes up and down Merlin’s body, searching for visible injuries. His tunic was torn in a few places, small areas beginning to darken with blood but nothing that seemed catastrophic. His trousers were much the same. His clothing was plastered so tightly to his thin body that Arthur could tell he had no seriously displaced fractures. Anything less severe would be ruled out once they had gotten his soaked clothes off. He had a nasty scrape on the crest of his cheekbone, but the most glaring issue was the gash that cleaved his eyebrow in two. It was spilling blood down the side of his face and had already begun to pool on the sharp rocks below. Gwaine had evidently been cataloging as well seeing as he was currently ripping a stretch of fabric from his sleeve and pressing it firmly to the area. Merlin opened his eyes at the sudden pressure and then attempted to fix his vision onto whatever Gwaine was pushing against his forehead, an obviously futile gesture. “What are you doing?” he asked, aborting his attempts to visualize the action and instead staring at Gwaine’s slightly pinched face. “You’ve got a nasty cut on your head” he answered, his voice laced with obvious confusion. It cleared when the reality of Merlin’s situation barreled into him once again. He often forgot that the boy could no longer feel pain and that the reason for this development was because he’d broken his promise to Merlin and left him alone in that gods forsaken village. 

Merlin saw the exact moment that Gwaine remembered and his eyes shuttered. He hated that Gwaine felt guilty, he was beginning to hate that people cared about him at all. If they didn’t, they would save themselves a lot of undue suffering. He knew speaking this aloud would only serve to further agitate Gwaine and likely Arthur as well, so he kept his mouth shut. Any additional talk was halted by Arthur’s near verbal assault. “What the hell were you thinking” he bellowed. Merlin finally looked up to his king. “Arthur this is hardly his fault. It’s obvious that someone struck him and sent him into the river” Lancelot argued from beside the irate royal. At least Merlin had the common decency to look cowed, even if only slightly. “I actually went in for this” Merlin replied, voice matching the sheepish expression as he once again lifted the knife into the air. Gwaine spluttered a bit, “I’m going to reiterate princess’s question. What the hell were you thinking?” he thundered. “I was thinking that a dagger of this quality is hard to come by” he replied, obviously done playing guilty. Gwaine’s hand, heavy on his shoulder, was preventing him from sitting upright so he shrugged off the offending limb and pushed himself up. He attempted to replace Gwaine’s hand with his own where it covered the cut but it was lightly batted away. Gwaine still looked cross but he was now silent. Arthur however was fuming and obviously had no plans to remain quiet. “I’m the king, I can get daggers like that whenever I please. Hell, I could get a dagger of far finer quality by tomorrow if I asked.” He said hotly. Merlin looked away and Arthur realized quite suddenly that the boy was about to make him look like a giant prat. He shook Gwaine off fully, pressing his hand against the already soaked piece of cloth when the knight’s hand fell away. Gwaine stumbled back a step as the boy lurched to his feet. Multiple sets of arms shot out to hover around his water-logged frame in case he fell but he managed to keep his feet under him, swaying only slightly. Merlin pushed the dagger into Arthur’s hand and forced his fingers to wrap around the hilt. Arthur looked down and noticed the blood slowly leaking from Merlin’s palm where he had evidently grasped the blade, as well as the scratches that littered the back of his hand, likely from when he had let his arm drop earlier. He also noticed exactly what dagger it was at the same moment that Merlin said it. “It was the last thing your father gave you before he died” he said sadly, the compassion bleeding from his eyes. Arthur had been correct, Merlin had proved him a prat and now he would have to spend the rest of the day and likely the majority of the next, fighting between anger and guilt.


End file.
